Match A

[James]

The Beginning

The city was in ruin, covered in ash with only the steel and concrete skeletons of buildings to suggest anyone once called this wasteland home. Tens of thousands dead but it wasn't the white phosphorus bombs that rained from the sky that killed them, nor the flames they spread. They were all dead before that, it just hadn't caught up with them yet.

Jill slowly walked down what had once been a main street, her once shiny gray armor suit already muted by the ash floating everywhere. The sounds of her own footsteps all she could hear besides the sounds her helmet respirator made when she exhaled. Some said it would never happen, a city in one of the most powerful nations in the world laid to waste by their own government.

A new noise got her attention, turning her head to the left she saw the source through her visor. A young boy ran past toward one of the shells of a building. She couldn't tell if he had whatever plague that had been the justification for scorching the city but her order were clear, purge the city of any holdouts. With a sickness in her stomach that she wondered would ever go away Jill hefted her flamethrower, aiming the end nozzle right at the boy cowering from her form.

[James]

Entry One

[/center]

The city was in ruin, covered in ash with only the steel and concrete skeletons of buildings to suggest anyone once called this wasteland home. Tens of thousands dead but it wasn't the white phosphorus bombs that rained from the sky that killed them, nor the flames they spread. They were all dead before that; it just hadn't caught up with them yet.

Jill slowly walked down what had once been a main street, her once shiny gray armor-suit already muted by the ash floating everywhere. The sounds of her own footsteps all she could hear besides the sounds her helmet respirator made when she exhaled. Some said it would never happen, a city in one of the most powerful nations in the world laid to waste by their own government.

A new noise got her attention; turning her head to the left she saw the source through her visor. A young boy ran past toward one of the shells of a building. She couldn't tell if he had whatever plague that had been the justification for scorching the city but her orders were clear, purge the city of any holdouts. With a sickness in her stomach that she wondered would ever go away Jill hefted her flamethrower, aiming the end nozzle right at the boy cowering from her form.

As soon as the flames licked across the boy’s body he jumped; his back and arms arched sharply with pain, his mouth open with shock and horror. It took a second for the screams to start and once they did Jill wondered if the sound would ever stop. The gut-wrenching cry cut through the helmet with ease. It echoed off the buildings and rebounded around the pair. The sound made Jill’s sickness worse, her stomach almost refusing to hold its food.

The dirty peasant-clothes the boy wore provided great fodder for the orange flames and petrol. Soon the fire stripped him, leaving a naked and unprotected body. The flames pushed on, peeling back his soft pink flesh, turning it a raw red and soot-covered black with oozing spots of blood and fat. The boy ran toward Jill, still screaming. He reached Jill before she could get out of the way, grasping at her armor-suit to beg for mercy. Everywhere he placed his hands skin ripped off in fatty globs and adhered to the suit.

The fire tore through his body seconds later. It removed any identification on his face, leaving behind cheekbones and sockets for eyes. He continued to look at Jill and she looked back completely silent against his suffering. She had to be silent. He would have been about the same age as Ryan, her brother, if he had not been killed by the military. She wanted to make the boy’s suffering stop. To scoop him up in her arms, but it was useless. A job was a job. A solitary tear rolled down her face and neckline.

The body of the boy finally stopped moving. His burnt out corpse fell to her feet, disturbing the ash that gathered there. He was nothing but a few shreds of meat and bones that still spat with small flames. He became one of the many that lined the streets of the hollow city.

“I’m sorry,” Jill whispered, refusing to look down, her voice strained. Her bleary eyes stared through the tears to the horizon. The sun was setting in the distance; the normally beautiful colors soiled by the destruction.

The helmet’s com-unit buzzed to life. “Jill? Are you alright?” The person on the other end sounded concerned, his normally soft voice shifted slightly out of kilter with worry.

“Yeah … I’m fine, Scott.” Jill shook her head to remove the thoughts, without much success. It was obvious by the muted tone of her voice that she really wasn’t fine but what other choice did she have? It was “do or die” in the military. If she couldn’t carry out the orders she knew they’d kick her out like one of the peasants she killed every day.

“It doesn’t get any easier,” Scott replied, his voice heavy with regret. He knew Jill was never suited to this kind of job. He’d seen the boy die, and the spike in Jill’s emotions, back at the command station. Each helmet had been fitted with a small camera and vitals-monitoring before the cleansing. Scott liked his job a lot more when he couldn’t see or hear the destruction. Not knowing made the horrors easier to deal with.

“I know, Scott, I know.” In another reality Scott would have been considered a good match, possibly even husband material, but those kinds of frivolities were forbidden to Military personal. Jill always shut her love away in a little box, far from everyone’s reach.

“Come back to base. It’s getting dark and you’ve been out there for more than eight hours. Get cleaned up and have something to eat, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jill replied wearily.

With a sorrowful glance at the sunset Jill turned and started the two mile trudge back to the command center. There were no human survivors on the journey back; only a few rats that feasted on the burning flesh and other animals. All were quickly dealt with by the flamethrower. The Military had ordered the area clean, which included animals that could carry the plague … If there ever was a plague. Jill had questioned the report and orders several times. She had never seen any evidence of the flesh eating horror.

The route back was littered with dead bodies, heaped in piles, which burned at the corners of empty buildings. The thick black smoke covered the streets; drifting in and out of the concrete shells. Jill fought to keep her concentration on the hot shower awaiting her back at base and not the bodies. A few more military passed her on the way back; making their way out to the furthest districts of the city to eradicate more people. Casual waves were exchanged, each thinking the same thing. Nobody enjoyed this job.

Eyes fixed on the floor, Jill entered the air-lock, the first of two doors. The room was a blinding white. The only sign of life were the small lasers that poked through at regular intervals. The command stations were very strict about keeping a clean environment. Everybody that entered and exited needed to pass a medical inspection to avoid spreading the plague further.

“Jill Blackfort,” she announced to the air-lock operators.

“Alright, Jill, just need to do a scan,” the intercom buzzed back.

“I know.”

Jill turned and placed her gloved hands against the wall in the usual fashion. As she looked down she caught sight of the boy’s burnt on handprints. The smoldering skin was still attached to the suit. The sight brought back the horrible way in which he had died. The handprint would make the air-lock procedure much longer, Jill knew. They would find a trace of the plague. She would need to spend the rest of the night getting injections against the plague, taking tests to check if it spread, and extensive cleansing; usually a painful procedure.

With a sigh Jill lifted her head and waited for the confirmation. The scan took a few moments as swaths of green light passed over her body, and the hand-prints. Jill stood as still as possible grinding her teeth together. She hadn’t wanted to kill the boy but she didn’t want to spend the night locked in the medical-ward. If he just hadn’t touched her!

Seconds turned into minutes as the scan continued until finally a green light blinked near the door. “All clean, Jill. There’s chili con carne for dinner tonight.” The intercom buzzed in a friendly tone.

Jill didn’t move. The sickness was back, with vengeance. The boy’s fingerprints showed no signs of the plague, which meant …

Jill forced the helmet off just as her stomach decided not to hold its food any more. The vomit poured out over the floor and around her boots.

The boy hadn’t been infected.

Tears ran down her face, jumping off her jawbone and making clinking sounds as they dropped onto the suit. The stomach didn’t stop at just the food in her stomach. After a minute and a lot of pain she started throwing up bile, thin and yellow. She hunched over her knees trying to stop the sickness, yet knowing she couldn’t. It would never go away.

[James]

Entry Two

[/center]

The city was in ruin, covered in ash with only the steel and concrete skeletons of buildings to suggest anyone once called this wasteland home. Tens of thousands dead but it wasn't the white phosphorus bombs that rained from the sky that killed them, nor the flames they spread. They were all dead before that, it just hadn't caught up with them yet.

Jill slowly walked down what had once been a main street, her once shiny gray armor suit already muted by the ash floating everywhere. The sounds of her own footsteps all she could hear besides the sounds her helmet respirator made when she exhaled. Some said it would never happen, a city in one of the most powerful nations in the world laid to waste by their own government.

A new noise got her attention, turning her head to the left she saw the source through her visor. A young boy ran past toward one of the shells of a building. She couldn't tell if he had whatever plague that had been the justification for scorching the city but her order were clear, purge the city of any holdouts. With a sickness in her stomach that she wondered would ever go away Jill hefted her flamethrower, aiming the end nozzle right at the boy cowering from her form.

The young man huddled in a heap of bedraggled clothing beneath an off-white metallic container looking up at her with desperate eyes. Jill could make out, just beneath the layers of dust and ash caked on the tank's surface, a label clearly marking the tank as "Flammable." She hesitated, lowering the tiny blue flame which danced at the end of her weapon.

Fuel had been one of the first things the Scavengers had looked for once the dust began to settle. Most establishments such as this were quickly drained of their reserves for powering generators and vehicles; to attempt an escape from the quarantined zone. Chances were, the massive propane tank positioned square in her line of fire was probably empty; but uncertainty was the real enemy these days. Her heart pounded furiously at the thought of her own body engulfed in a firestorm of reckless, impulsive decisions.

The boy must have seen her pause, or the indecision evident in her posture. He bolted. In a flurry of torn cloth and dust he got to his feet and ran across the cracked and torn asphalt of the old parking lot, deftly dodging around the burnt out shells of cars and the various detritus of better days. He was thin as a rail and his clothing hung from his body almost comically. It brought back memories of when she was young, trying on her parents clothing in a mirror; all of it many sizes to big and dangling about her body in awkward folds. It was a wonder he could move so fast, hindered in such a fashion. His skinny little legs carried him quickly across the pavement, an eruption of ash and debris greeting each footfall, and in a moment he was past the old gasoline pumps and crawling his way through a broken panel on the gas station's glass storefront.

Jill cursed under her breath and followed after him, her armor and the heavy fuel canisters on her back limiting her movement to a brisk jog. She approached the broken window cautiously. The whole of the waist-high panel had been broken out and replaced with plywood, the lower portion of which had a hole cut into it just large enough for a child to slip through. Or a very thin adult, Jill thought, but not a fully armored Sweeper.

Taking a few steps back from the miniature entrance, Jill considered her options. She could torch the whole building easy enough, a less than perfect plan but not without catharsis. Unfortunately, such an action would be pointless if the little urchin wasn't inside when it came crashing down so she'd have to stand by and make sure. However, standing about in close proximity to a burning gas station was not the kind of fate she'd prefer to chance.

She could wait for him to come out. Though who knows how long he could remain holed up in there? A one-time convenience store was probably loaded with food-stuffs and supplies. If he'd had the foresight to create a cache inside it could be weeks before he came out. No, waiting would not be an option; she'd have to report back to the Border Wall before sundown regardless.

A puff of dust from the respirator signaled a sigh of resignation; she'd have to go inside. Who knew if the kid was alone or not, but she had to do something. Sweepers weren't exactly popular with the Scavengers, for obvious reasons, and the longer she remained standing out in the open deciding the more likely she'd be discovered by one of the roving gangs. Few of who were less dangerous than just going inside would be.

Uncertainty; not an attractive option.

With one free hand, Jill searched her immediate proximity for something heavy. Eventually settling on a rusted car door and few old tires, she dragged the obstacles through the dust and positioned them in front of the boy's access hole blocking it off entirely. Satisfied that he couldn't sneak out, she circled the building once in search of additional exits. There was one, an back door leading out into an alley, but it had long ago been barricaded with wood and large debris. Though there were footprints all along the alley, there was no evidence of disturbance in the dust drifted up against the outside of the doorway. No, no one had used that passage in quite a while.

An eerie silence blanketed the once bustling city like the soft layer of ash that whispered its greeting to each booted footstep. Almost like snow, Jill thought as she circled her way around to the front of the burnt out store. She could remember visiting the city one winter when she was younger—having grown up in the rural outskirts such an endeavor was a special occasion—even in the those freezing temperatures the sidewalks had still been heavily travelled and the snow bore the record of the hurried paths of hundreds. Now, only a few sets of prints interrupted the otherwise muted-grey perfection, most of which were days or weeks old and partially filled by the constant ashen snow.

She checked on her makeshift barricade blocking the miniature entrance ensuring it hadn’t been disturbed. She nodded her approval to no one and checked the double door that would have served as the building’s entrance in its heyday. Chained and blocked. Jill moved from one boarded up window to another, knocking heavily on each one with heavy gloved fist until one responded hollowly. It was low to the ground where she found the weakness, but further inspection said the space behind should be large enough.

Her jaw clenched with determination, Jill struck the wooden panel with the steel toe of her boot. It answered thunderously and echoed between the derelict monoliths surrounding her. She struck again, and again, until the answer came back the flat crack of surrender. She slipped her fingers into the crack and pulled away a hunk of wood, revealing a vast empty space behind. She broke of another piece with her foot and continued to work at the ply board, kicking an tearing, until she’d made a passage through which she wouldn’t be required to crawl.

Jill paused and put a hand over the intake on her respirator taking a deep breath to check the seal. The soft plastic interior sucked tight against her sweaty skin; a strangely comforting sensation. She smiled grimly. One couldn’t be too careful in the Quarantine Zone. The plague that had gripped this city and made such destruction necessary remained as mysterious today as it had when it first struck. The symptoms were sometimes obvious, sometimes ambiguous, killing in days, or in months. The world’s top scientists still struggled to get a handle on its nature, all the while people continued to die of causes largely unknown.

Her first Sweep and hammered this into her without question or remorse. Reports had come that the old West Border-Wall Station, a supposed clean zone, had been infected when a Sweeper like she had returned from the field with a dine-sized hole in his armor and negligible bullet wound.

No one had though anything of it at the time, the wound had been so minor and the means by which the plague spread were even less understood then. The Sweeper began showing symptoms in a few days. Three days after that a nurse had died, symptom free. The next day it was a lab tech and a clerk. In an unprecedented display of virulence, within a week it has spread to the refugee camp outside the Border-Wall and killed fifteen more. By government order the West Border Wall Station and Camp were quarantined and Sweepers from the North Station had been brought in to clean up. By the time Jill had arrived, nearly everyone showed signs of infection and the rest were assumed to be incubating. The soldier who had brought the plague inside managed to survive until the Sweepers’ flames engulfed the camp.

The hardest day of her life, Jill had been personally responsible for executing twenty-three Sweepers; her comrades in arms, her friends. The stoic determination in the Sweepers’ eyes when she killed them, the cold understanding and acceptance of what they knew had to be done, the heroism displayed by those men and women’s simple willingness to die without complaint; it was an image more vivid than the tear-filled eyes of any pleading mother or wretched child she’d had to dispatch prior to or since. That evening wasn’t the first time her job had made her cry, but it was the hardest, and the last.

With a crack a red fire blazed in her hand. Jill shined it briefly before hole before her and then tossed it into the dark unknown beyond. Ducking her head, she followed suit. The interior of the store had been utterly ransacked. The metal shelves, gleaming in the crimson glow, had long ago been stripped of all but the most trivial of items.

She re-ignited the pilot on her flamethrower and paced the front of the store giving each aisle a quick inspection as she stepped over tipped shelves and broken light fixtures having long ago fallen to the floor. She put her back to a soda fountain and tossed another flare behind the cashier’s counter where the light didn’t reach. So far no signs of the boy, though she was confident he hadn’t left.

In the back of the store stood a row of what once had been glass freezer doors. The panels had been broken out and replaced with pieces of the metal store shelves. Jill approached the doors, putting her visor to a gap between the metal panels. It was too dark to see inside. She moved away from the freezer section and searched the area until she located the access door hidden behind a pile of debris, stacked floor to ceiling

Jill tugged on the handle, a little surprised when it opened with a heavy clunk but little effort. She threw a third flare through the meager opening allowed by the mountain of junk meant to conceal it.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other side. Jill sprang into action. Her heart pounding, Jill gripped the edge of the door with her free hand and pulled, hard, shoving it against the pile. The stack submitted in a tumble of debris and she stepped inside, the tiny pilot light leading like the head of a snake seeking prey.

She could hear whimpering coming from one corner of the room. A heap of rags and blankets squirmed as a small body wriggled its way underneath, desperate to remain out of sight. Jill kicked the flare closer allowing its glow to reveal the unseen.

Four. Four faces, all children, all smeared with dirt and streaked with tears stared back at her, their eyes wide and desperate. Their bodies were thin and knobby about the joints, their faces gaunt and sunken. She recognized one as the boy from outside; he appeared older than she’d first assumed when placed against the others. Jill’s face set like stone, cold and indifferent though her helmet hid her expression from the onlookers; they did not speak, only stared and begged with their pathetic eyes.

She continued to survey the room; it smelled of urine and feces, and death. In an opposite corner she located the source. A fifth body, this one a grown man, lay face down on the freezer room floor. It’s flesh displayed the open sores and sickly pallor of infection, some of the few obvious symptoms. Her finger closed reflexively on the trigger and flame belched forth from the weapon engulfing the corpse completely. There was no thought involved, only action.

She held it on the carcass for less than a second and pivoted the fire swiftly onto the ragged mass of blankets and children. The smoke seemed to carry their screams into the air as they writhed in agony on the floor, their tiny bodies twisting and contorting under the flames unrelenting assault.

“No!” the cry was muffled through her helmet but the blow which followed hit full force. Stars exploded at the edge of Jill’s vision as something smashed her in the face. There was an audible crunch and she reeled backward, dropping her weapon and colliding with a set of metal shelves. They clattered heavily to the floor and she followed.

Jill sat for a moment, stunned. A woman had entered the room and was franticly trying to smother the fire that was quickly consuming the children. It was no use. Jill did a quick spot check with her tongue assessing the damage, she tasted blood in her mouth and her lip was swollen but all her teeth seemed in tact.

The woman scrambled to her feet, picking up a heavy pipe and turned on he; wailing through futile tears, “How could you? They’re only children!”

The question was moot. Not only because the deed was done, but also because Jill had wrestled with this quandary long ago. Complete eradication was the only answer; it was the only way to win.

The woman lunged at her with the bludgeon held high above her head. Jill drew the pistol on her belt and fired into the woman’s sternum. Blood sprayed splattered out in hot droplets onto Jill’s armor and visor. The woman stood for a moment, as though unclear what had happened, then stumbled and fell lifeless to the floor.

Jill rolled the body over with her foot to be sure the woman was gone; then she crossed the room to where one of the children still writhed the flame-nozzle dragging behind her by it’s fuel hose. She pointed the pistol at the body and finished the boy off; the others were already gone. May even have been before she torched them, it was hard to tell in that light.

All she knew, as she bent down to retrieve her weapon, was that she had to get out of this room. The temperature was approaching dangerous levels, and the smell of burning flesh was nauseating. Combining that with the smoke that choked her lungs . . .

Panic suddenly filled her heart. She could smell them; she could taste their burning bodies on her tongue. She reached up to where she’d been hit; broken. Her facemask had broken! She pulled her hand away; there was blood on her glove. Was it hers? Was it that of her attacker?

Jill felt tears begin to well up in her eyes; she choked back the lump in her throat. Maybe these people weren’t infected. Maybe they were just hungry, maybe the man had died from something else, maybe he had a drug habit; that would explain the sores. She wanted an excuse, desperately; she wanted to be wrong about these people. She wanted to go home and wrestle with her conscience over what she’d done, she wanted to live many more tortured years reliving this experience as it haunted her dreams. It all seemed preferable to what she knew to be the truth.

Jill removed her helmet and drew her pistol. The muzzle was still hot from being fired and she felt it sting against the sensitive skin beneath her chin. She remembered the West Border Wall, the refugee camp, how quickly the disease had spread, how many had died and how many more would have if she hadn’t done what she’d done. She remembered the other Sweepers, their bravery and sacrifice and she let that feeling fill her body.

Jill closed her eyes and pressed the barrel harder against her skin. She felt righteous as she pulled the trigger.

[James]

Entry One's Reviews

As with all the entries this "Round," there was actually very little in way of grammar, spelling or punctuation to find fault with in the least, and any errors that were there were so minor as to be unnoticeable, and not really worthy of mention since they didn't detract in the least from the story.

About three paragraph's into this author's story, the sentences became a bit unvaried - that section could have used some breaking up/variation in length or composition, but that small section was quickly fixed in the rest of the story.

There was a great deal of emotion in this story that I really liked - regret and self-doubt and, by the end, a great deal of self-loathing. The descriptions, too, were wondefully vivid.

Still, there were pieces that probably could have used a bit more development, especially when it comes to her thoughts of Ryan. Personally, I would have preferred a bit more elucidation when it came to the part about her little brother and what actually happened to him - especially since it's such a large part of the Jill we see here, and how she became the person she is "today."

All-in-all though, a great story.

***

I have absolutely no complaints. I think you and your opponent are –both- extremely good writers and this is a tough toss up to call on. It really hit me when the end of the story came around, what Jill had done, that he –wasn’t- infected. That must have felt horrible, even to write. Mmm.

***

That was pretty sad, but not as sad as it could have been. You didn't really explain what had happened, or how. What was this plague? Why did she think people in charge were lying about it? How did all this begin? Her thoughts on the matter would have made this more clear. While the story was simple and easy to follow, at times I really wished I knew more. I just didn't feel for the boy as much as I should have. Grammatically, it was fine, save a few mistakes that could have been avoided, but nothing serious.

***

The story was easy to read, keeping decent pace while explaining things. I liked the descriptions, but they seemed to only take place in the beginning, trailing off later down the line. The progression was a little predictable and even though I understood that the character's feelings on what was happening, it seemed rushed. It was almost too much information for the length that was told. I'd suggest not talking about other characters too much and not hinting at a larger, possibly sinister plot that's taking place behind the scenes. Still, it was well written and is a good idea for a larger story.

[James]

Entry Two's Reviews

Very well written; the story's flow was perfect; and the ending was superb. Aside from a couple very small grammatical errors, I only have one complaint: If Jill had a pistol the whole time, why didn't she shoot the boy before he ran for it? Aside from that, the whole story was perfect. An truly enjoyable read.

***

“Jill did a quick spot check with her tongue assessing the damage, she tasted blood in her mouth and her lip was swollen but all her teeth seemed in tact.”

“in tact” should be one word.


“The woman scrambled to her feet, picking up a heavy pipe and turned on he;”

I didn’t realized there were any “he’s” present at this juncture.

Whoa, suicide. That was…a powerful way to end this. Jeese, you guys are horrible people, lol, even if it’s necessary. Man, good stories the both of you, as I said before. No complaints aside from what I’ve listed before. Really was a good story, though I think she should have called and told someone she was infected and had to kill herself. The dialogue in that could have made it more dramatic, especially if she’d clicked the channel off in the middle of someone else’s nervous ranting or calm speech about protecting life at all costs. Meh, anyway, it was good.

***

Technically, this entry was near flawless. And the construction of the mind set of a cold, calculating "soldier" was impeccably done, from start to finish. The reader could vaccillate between outrage the "heroine," to grim understanding, to pity to a grudging admiration - all because no matter what this Jill did, it was all too horribly human.

There was a section during the "chase" portion of the story that started to drag, where I found my attention jumping ahead to see when the next bit of pertinent of action would come. Still, overall this entry was beautifully executed.

***

You gave a bit of backstory for this entry, but I think you could have given more. Though I did like it very much. It was interesting, sad, and showed the mentality of the Sweepers all too well. I just wish I knew what had happened. There were a few grammar mistakes that could have been avoided easily, so watch out for those.

[Jenny (Reffy)]

~~~Reffy claims Entry 1~~~ (Shock horror - right?)

[The Drall]

This was a REALLY hard one to vote for. Nice job, Reffy

[ASGetty ((Zovo))]

There were two matches in this competition where, when I read my opponent's work, I became really concerned for my chances. This was one of them.